Rivedere G. è stato emozionalmente forte.
Ha lo sguardo triste, di un cane bastonato, ma sa farmi ridere per ore.
Vive in una baita ad Avigliana, nel cuore della Val di Susa. La sua stanza, tutta dipinta di azzurro, affaccia su un lago enorme e sulle montagne innevate. Ha degli amici stupendi, come lui. Nessuno fa un cazzo, precisa , ma dicono tutti che sono artisti. Tony, ad esempio. Avrà circa 60 anni e fa il restauratore ed è felice di cucinare per una decine di ragazzi affamati e strafatti di canne.
Non lo so se l'ho trovato meglio. Mi nasconde qualcosa, lo so.E mi racconta che ha fatto delle cose cattivissime, con leggerezza. Perche non vuole ammetterlo a se stesso quanto è grave.
Ma G. mi vuole bene, lo so. E non vuole rovinarlo. E io lo stesso. Vuole preservarmi dai suoi casini. Sento che mi ha riposto in un cassetto speciale, ma a patto che io mi fida di lui. E mi fido.Rideva come un bambino mentre parlavamo di Marco Zullo che ha fatto un frontale con il cinghiale. E delle suore a Timor Est, che ogni volta che recitavano il rosario e lui guidava, si faceva un incidente. E di mattina l'ho trovato sveglio in mezzo al letto che fumava e gia rideva. Ha messo su Kid A e mi ha fatto un caffè. Everything in its right place.
Parla della sua depressione come fosse un raffreddore. Sminuisce ogni dramma della sua vita. Allora io ci scherzo su e lui ride.
- Topina ma perche non resti qui a Torino.
- G., io sto ad Oslo.
- Ma neanche se mi pagano, ma tanto non mi pagano.
Ma il freddo non è solo ad Oslo. Cè una tempesta di neve e dobbiamo salire sulle montagne della Val di Susa senza catene. Le montagne innevate offrono uno spettacolo mozzafiato.
Speravo che il giorno della partenza non arrivasse mai. Al suo fianco mi sentivo al sicuro. I portici di Torino offrivano riparo. E invece G. mi ha svegliato alle 8 e mi ha detto: Dove lo trovi un uomo cosi ginnico che si sveglia alle 6 per spalare la neve in neve in giardino. Topina, tu invece hai gia perso un treno.
Ma è tutto fatto apposta, per non avere il tempo di salutarsi.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Hustling in a waiting room
Tunng - Hustle
When I come home, you won't be there any more
When I come home, you won't be there any more
And you will tear off your clothes and kiss the floor
When I come home, home, home
When I see land you will conjure up a storm
When I see land you will conjure up a storm
And I will tie your hands to the highest mast
When I see land, land, land
And we will hustle, hustle, hustle to be free
Free from all the
Happy thoughts and smiles across the sea
In favour of the
Mean, mean, moves,
And back doors to the heart from where we
Always, always fall apart
And you will slide on the back seat of my bike
And you will slide on the back seat of my bike
And I will ride you home drunken in the rain
and you will win again and again
Now it's your turn you will tie me to the tree
Now it's your turn you will tie me to the tree
And you will sing and sing, forever you and me
And in the dark you wonder what I see
And we will hustle, hustle, hustle to be free
Free from all the
Happy thoughts and smiles across the sea
In favour of the
Mean, mean, moves,
And back doors to the heart from where we
Always, always fall apart
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Santa Claus is everywhere, even on the toilet paper packaging!
Parties, parties, concerts, dancing, then the family came over, and work-deadlines...
Oh, only Lucia knows how deadlines work with me. She used to see me writing a 20-page-essays the day before the due date, seating all day in the same place, without moving nor speaking, only writing and smoking, occasionaly standing up because my ass was hurting.
But now it's Christmas time and Oslo is beautiful, with lights, snow, Christmas food and all these julebord...
The "julebord" is the Christmas party, and besides the one with your friends, your association etc., you always have one with your colleagues. There are many stories in Norways about the work julebord because usually companies hold it outside Oslo, rent an hotel, people get very drunk, and no wifes or husband is allowed so...
Our department julebord was absolutely fun. First of all we had in one of the coolest underground club in Oslo (it's a place that hosts an Art school in the morning and in the evening concerts). Then we were all dressed up but very relaxed. During the dinner we had lots of activities, speeches of course but also Christmas songs, dancing, prizes and...a competition: building a house with peppercaker (biscuits), sugar, chocolate and nuts!!!
This is how it was supposed to be
But the team was composed of me, Nele, Aike and Wael (four Non-Norwegians who had always thought that biscuits are made to eat, not to create something stable!)) and the result was..broken biscuits, all the chocolate in our stomachs and the sugar on our faces :) We tried to convince the jury that our masterpiece was called "The power of deconstruction" or The Post-post-modernism in remembrance of Haiti 2010 etc., but we didn't get any prize!
But since when stability is considered to be a value????
Oh, only Lucia knows how deadlines work with me. She used to see me writing a 20-page-essays the day before the due date, seating all day in the same place, without moving nor speaking, only writing and smoking, occasionaly standing up because my ass was hurting.
But now it's Christmas time and Oslo is beautiful, with lights, snow, Christmas food and all these julebord...
The "julebord" is the Christmas party, and besides the one with your friends, your association etc., you always have one with your colleagues. There are many stories in Norways about the work julebord because usually companies hold it outside Oslo, rent an hotel, people get very drunk, and no wifes or husband is allowed so...
Our department julebord was absolutely fun. First of all we had in one of the coolest underground club in Oslo (it's a place that hosts an Art school in the morning and in the evening concerts). Then we were all dressed up but very relaxed. During the dinner we had lots of activities, speeches of course but also Christmas songs, dancing, prizes and...a competition: building a house with peppercaker (biscuits), sugar, chocolate and nuts!!!
This is how it was supposed to be
But the team was composed of me, Nele, Aike and Wael (four Non-Norwegians who had always thought that biscuits are made to eat, not to create something stable!)) and the result was..broken biscuits, all the chocolate in our stomachs and the sugar on our faces :) We tried to convince the jury that our masterpiece was called "The power of deconstruction" or The Post-post-modernism in remembrance of Haiti 2010 etc., but we didn't get any prize!
But since when stability is considered to be a value????
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Tales of ordinary freezing.
Yesterday for the first time i felt i was getting really tired of this weather.
Minus 13 degrees in November is really too hard for me and it will still get worse.(-20, -25).
I try to compare it to the 50 degrees in Cairo in Ramadan (sweat + more religious strictness so you have to dress more+ no open shops in the daytime+ no drinks and food in the streets+ pissed off taxi and microbus drivers) or to the khamsin which spreads red dust all over your face, to remind myself that I've have already experienced bad weather conditions and still...I survived.
But -13 + cold wind + snow over you face + slippery floor, that's really too much for me. "We are humans", says S., my Franco-Algerian friend who study Physiology. "We cannot live in this temperature."
I have a massive jacket with feathers padding and fur inside the hood (when i wear it i feel like the vacuum packed ham), boots with wool inside, 3 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of gloves, hat, 2 scarfs, wool all over my body and still when I am outside I feel so cold that i can't speak. I haven't smoked an entire sigarette for three days, cause after two minutes my fingers get frozen and I have to run inside.
So yesterday i got really sad. Or tired. For the first time I experienced how this weather can put you down. All bad thoughts came back. I missed my friends in Cairo. I tried with sigarette, but I was not brave enough. I tried with Lindt chocolate. Nothing, still depressed. I tried with SMS. Too short. I tried with music. I had to choose a neutral music, not linked to any memory. PJ Harvey was definitely not the solution.Tania Saleh neither. The Knife helped a little bit. The pains of being pure at heart forced me to switch off the computer. I went to bed. Khalas. Fuck, if the cheese is kept at 3, 4 degrees, why I should be kept at -13. I woke up at 9 pm, I had a boiling shower, put on a nice dress and I went out again.
If you can't escape from the problem, then just face it.
Minus 13 degrees in November is really too hard for me and it will still get worse.(-20, -25).
I try to compare it to the 50 degrees in Cairo in Ramadan (sweat + more religious strictness so you have to dress more+ no open shops in the daytime+ no drinks and food in the streets+ pissed off taxi and microbus drivers) or to the khamsin which spreads red dust all over your face, to remind myself that I've have already experienced bad weather conditions and still...I survived.
But -13 + cold wind + snow over you face + slippery floor, that's really too much for me. "We are humans", says S., my Franco-Algerian friend who study Physiology. "We cannot live in this temperature."
I have a massive jacket with feathers padding and fur inside the hood (when i wear it i feel like the vacuum packed ham), boots with wool inside, 3 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of gloves, hat, 2 scarfs, wool all over my body and still when I am outside I feel so cold that i can't speak. I haven't smoked an entire sigarette for three days, cause after two minutes my fingers get frozen and I have to run inside.
So yesterday i got really sad. Or tired. For the first time I experienced how this weather can put you down. All bad thoughts came back. I missed my friends in Cairo. I tried with sigarette, but I was not brave enough. I tried with Lindt chocolate. Nothing, still depressed. I tried with SMS. Too short. I tried with music. I had to choose a neutral music, not linked to any memory. PJ Harvey was definitely not the solution.Tania Saleh neither. The Knife helped a little bit. The pains of being pure at heart forced me to switch off the computer. I went to bed. Khalas. Fuck, if the cheese is kept at 3, 4 degrees, why I should be kept at -13. I woke up at 9 pm, I had a boiling shower, put on a nice dress and I went out again.
If you can't escape from the problem, then just face it.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Hoppe på banan!
Let's talk now about my vanngym classes, that is water gym, or better aerobic in the swimming pool.
So, what do you imagine when you generally think of water gym? fiftie-sh or pregnant women who wake up at 7 in the morning, during their holiday week at the beach resort to warm up their muscles? desperate housewives who send their children to school, make the beds and run to the gym to spend some hours in the morning?
Well in Oslo you have to imagine a dozen of fatti-sh, ugly mature women who happily jump like a bunch of elephants in the water. And if you consider that in Norway the standard of female beauty is pretty high, and the gym belongs to the university thus it' supposed to be attended by students...then I think the problem is the watergym itself!
The main point is the instructor. In all the other classes you have beautiful, super-fit blonde young women who are so happy and hyper that I'm sure they take cocaine before the class. (But in Norway people do lot of sports in the winter also to react to the depressing effect of the dark, so I guess instructors have to look always very encouraging and inspiring). This instructor, Farah (she's Arab, I don't know from where) is fat, definitely bored to do this job, very lazy: she sits all the time outside the swimming pool and shows us what we have to do to...staying seated on a bench. She is not inspiring at all but still, we are so happy!!!!
Every lesson she wants us to dance "papapapa L'americano" in the water and laughs.(!!!) Then, she starts throwing some tools in the water, we have to catch it and do strange exercises. My favourite moment is when she throws this kind of long banana and she says: Hoppe på banan (Jump on the banana) or Sykles på banan, (cycle on the banana)! And all the people laugh, they are so excited, and me too I laugh, and we throw each other water in the faces, and we jump on the banana, and dance, like bunch of elephants!
Then we all run from the fucking cold swimming pool to the baby swimming pool (50 cm.) with hot water. There we relax our muscles and we loose our fats . And after 15 minutes we all run to have a cold shower... and then...all naked in the sauna!Frrrrrrr.
Vanngym class: a dozen of happy elephants who plays with bananas and jump in the water to forget that outside is freezy and dark.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Parental skype-ing
My parents landed on skype-planet. I mean, they've been using it for the last year, but since in Egypt I was always far from my computer, they were just using it to call me on my mobile.
Now they discovered the skype-to-skype call, the SMS and above all the smiles/icons options.
So, first of all, as soon as I press the green button to answer, i can hear them fighting about who should handle the headphones. (Which sounds like scratching noises (??), grumbles and "Alfre', famm parla' a me che so' a' mamm - Alfre', I should talk because I am the mother!) Then, since they discovered that calling skype-to-skype is free of charge, they like talking to me for at least half an hour. I've never talked so much about my friends abroad as this time. Now they know all the names and what they are doing. On the other hand, I have never been so informed about my home town neighbours, the hairdressers prices and my mother's shopping. When my father is home alone in the morning, we chat about guys and love. He gives me advices about flirting and encourages me to dress nicely and to make eyes to handsome guys, especially if they are working at university.
As for SMS, sometimes they send me things like Teruccia, mamma ti pensa sempre (Teruccia, your mum is always thinking of you", or Sisa, sei bella (Sisa, you are so charming") or Tesoro, che stai a fa (Darling, what are you doing - but in Roman dialect and my home town is three hour far from Rome) or also Amore, papa' vuole uscire con te in Norvegia ma ha paura del freddo perch' ha perz e capill (My love, your Dad wants to go out with in Norway- not Oslo, Norway-, but it might be too cold for me cause I almost got completely bald now). Please do note that they always write about themselves in third person, as if they were aware of the depersonalizing effect of new media techonolgy.
But let's come to smiles and icons. In the morning my father starts his skype and sends me the cup of coffee icon. At lunch time, it's the turn of the sliced pizza. Sometimes he adds the sun, the smile with sunglasses and than he writes the temperature in Oslo which he takes from google (-7, -8), so I feel he's kidding me. If it is raining in my hometown, he adds the rainy cloud, as a way to show his support to my weather adversities.
But his favourite icon is definitely the teddy bear. (please open you skype now to see it or check the full list here http://factoryjoe.com/projects/emoticons/ because you need to visualize it in order to understand).
Every day my father sends me a dozens of these fucking stupid teddy bears and if I don't reply at least with a ninja, or dancing icon, he calls me to say: "I sent you a teddy bear, why you didn't reply!!!" (Which literally sounds like: t'aggie mannat l'ors, pecche' nun m'e rispost!). And I have to answer things like "I'm sorry dad, I was working" (which might sound as an excuse for him!).
But I need to admit that this is so fucking funny, and I can't help laughing on my own in my office, so I wonder what my Norwegian office mate thinks about my office work...."Foreigners"!
Now they discovered the skype-to-skype call, the SMS and above all the smiles/icons options.
So, first of all, as soon as I press the green button to answer, i can hear them fighting about who should handle the headphones. (Which sounds like scratching noises (??), grumbles and "Alfre', famm parla' a me che so' a' mamm - Alfre', I should talk because I am the mother!) Then, since they discovered that calling skype-to-skype is free of charge, they like talking to me for at least half an hour. I've never talked so much about my friends abroad as this time. Now they know all the names and what they are doing. On the other hand, I have never been so informed about my home town neighbours, the hairdressers prices and my mother's shopping. When my father is home alone in the morning, we chat about guys and love. He gives me advices about flirting and encourages me to dress nicely and to make eyes to handsome guys, especially if they are working at university.
As for SMS, sometimes they send me things like Teruccia, mamma ti pensa sempre (Teruccia, your mum is always thinking of you", or Sisa, sei bella (Sisa, you are so charming") or Tesoro, che stai a fa (Darling, what are you doing - but in Roman dialect and my home town is three hour far from Rome) or also Amore, papa' vuole uscire con te in Norvegia ma ha paura del freddo perch' ha perz e capill (My love, your Dad wants to go out with in Norway- not Oslo, Norway-, but it might be too cold for me cause I almost got completely bald now). Please do note that they always write about themselves in third person, as if they were aware of the depersonalizing effect of new media techonolgy.
But let's come to smiles and icons. In the morning my father starts his skype and sends me the cup of coffee icon. At lunch time, it's the turn of the sliced pizza. Sometimes he adds the sun, the smile with sunglasses and than he writes the temperature in Oslo which he takes from google (-7, -8), so I feel he's kidding me. If it is raining in my hometown, he adds the rainy cloud, as a way to show his support to my weather adversities.
But his favourite icon is definitely the teddy bear. (please open you skype now to see it or check the full list here http://factoryjoe.com/projects/emoticons/ because you need to visualize it in order to understand).
Every day my father sends me a dozens of these fucking stupid teddy bears and if I don't reply at least with a ninja, or dancing icon, he calls me to say: "I sent you a teddy bear, why you didn't reply!!!" (Which literally sounds like: t'aggie mannat l'ors, pecche' nun m'e rispost!). And I have to answer things like "I'm sorry dad, I was working" (which might sound as an excuse for him!).
But I need to admit that this is so fucking funny, and I can't help laughing on my own in my office, so I wonder what my Norwegian office mate thinks about my office work...."Foreigners"!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Keep the sun on your face
I am trying to be always surrounded by people and doing lots of activities. I realise that the more I laugh, dance and talk, the more peolpe are happy with me and invite me to go out. When I am outside I try to push all the bad thoughts in the bottom of my stomach and to shake them up during my bellydance classes. A couple of sentences still echoes in my mind and hurt me very badly. I am sure i did not deserve them. I have lots of anger inside and I'm starting from it to recover. With this anger inside all the memories take a new shape. But maybe that's how it meant to be.
I love concerts. They are at the top of my wishlist, after necklaces and before sunbathing. They give me adrenalina. Olso is the perfect place to see concerts, as both internationally known and gorgeous local bands play here in Olso and the venues are always packed with people. The day after you hail the the icy morning with an exciting motif in your mind and the drumbeat in your forehead. Concerts are the thing I mostly missed in Cairo or in my hometown, where either you had always the same band playing or the place was too far or my friends were often too lazy to come with me. Here I have friends who have the same musical tastes as I and I just need a ten minute-bus ride to reach the venue.
I don't like guys misunderstanding. They make me feel awkward. Playing with my hair, smiling, being "physical" as they say, is simply my way of being. I am transparent, hot-blooded and this is my way of shortening distances with people. The risk is encouraging people to say I love you but I have two children. Or, why you let me go home alone. Or, worse, we are on different levels.
But I don't want to restrain myself. My smile is simply my welcome. My tears are your embarassment. "When i saw you crying, i felt i was a beast", O. told me once. My dance is my release.
A friend advised me to take vitamins to supply the lack of sun. In addition to the anti-depression lamp.
I'll just follow the I Ching response that I got in September. "Be like the sun at midday" and push the storm away from you.
I love concerts. They are at the top of my wishlist, after necklaces and before sunbathing. They give me adrenalina. Olso is the perfect place to see concerts, as both internationally known and gorgeous local bands play here in Olso and the venues are always packed with people. The day after you hail the the icy morning with an exciting motif in your mind and the drumbeat in your forehead. Concerts are the thing I mostly missed in Cairo or in my hometown, where either you had always the same band playing or the place was too far or my friends were often too lazy to come with me. Here I have friends who have the same musical tastes as I and I just need a ten minute-bus ride to reach the venue.
I don't like guys misunderstanding. They make me feel awkward. Playing with my hair, smiling, being "physical" as they say, is simply my way of being. I am transparent, hot-blooded and this is my way of shortening distances with people. The risk is encouraging people to say I love you but I have two children. Or, why you let me go home alone. Or, worse, we are on different levels.
But I don't want to restrain myself. My smile is simply my welcome. My tears are your embarassment. "When i saw you crying, i felt i was a beast", O. told me once. My dance is my release.
A friend advised me to take vitamins to supply the lack of sun. In addition to the anti-depression lamp.
I'll just follow the I Ching response that I got in September. "Be like the sun at midday" and push the storm away from you.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Norwegian gifts
It's time to introduce you to an important tool of Norwegian life: the website Finn.no.
On this website, unfortunately for us written completely in Norwegian, people publish advertisement of every sort: from job offers to love datings, from travel arrangements to boat repairing.
However the most interesting part is the section "Torget" which means "square" and within it the section "gis bort", that is..."Gift". Gifts...free stuff that people don't use anymore and wants to give out. You just need to knock on their door and take your gift.
You might be shocked by all this largeness but actually Norwegian people are really keen on recycling. Last week, for example, I went to a flea market and that's what I discovered: here flea markets are usually held in schools and are aimed to support the music school-band, so every once in a while all the people from the neighbourhood collect their stuff and give it to the market for free. I was used to our flea markets, so when I saw two big loudspeakers I was ready to pronounce my successful sentence "you know, you want too much, once I bought it for xxx euros" when the guy told me: "Ehy, you look interested. You know, you can take it for free!" And I found myself replying: "no please, take 10 kr."(1.20 euro)..for the school band(???)!!! And the loudspeakers are perfectly working!!!
But let's go back to the gifts of finn.no, since I got really addicted to it. You can find every sort of gifts: from tables, to cupboards, televisions, clothes...but mainly....pianos and rabbits!!!
Please don't ask me why pianos and rabbits. I mean, the reproductive rate of rabbits is notoriuos, but why they're so popular on finn.no! And pianos, why people give pianos for free???
Please follow the link to admire these beautiful rabbits
http://www.finn.no/finn/torget/gisbort/resultat
but in the meanwhile...
I already decided which one will be my rabbit.....
On this website, unfortunately for us written completely in Norwegian, people publish advertisement of every sort: from job offers to love datings, from travel arrangements to boat repairing.
However the most interesting part is the section "Torget" which means "square" and within it the section "gis bort", that is..."Gift". Gifts...free stuff that people don't use anymore and wants to give out. You just need to knock on their door and take your gift.
You might be shocked by all this largeness but actually Norwegian people are really keen on recycling. Last week, for example, I went to a flea market and that's what I discovered: here flea markets are usually held in schools and are aimed to support the music school-band, so every once in a while all the people from the neighbourhood collect their stuff and give it to the market for free. I was used to our flea markets, so when I saw two big loudspeakers I was ready to pronounce my successful sentence "you know, you want too much, once I bought it for xxx euros" when the guy told me: "Ehy, you look interested. You know, you can take it for free!" And I found myself replying: "no please, take 10 kr."(1.20 euro)..for the school band(???)!!! And the loudspeakers are perfectly working!!!
But let's go back to the gifts of finn.no, since I got really addicted to it. You can find every sort of gifts: from tables, to cupboards, televisions, clothes...but mainly....pianos and rabbits!!!
Please don't ask me why pianos and rabbits. I mean, the reproductive rate of rabbits is notoriuos, but why they're so popular on finn.no! And pianos, why people give pianos for free???
Please follow the link to admire these beautiful rabbits
http://www.finn.no/finn/torget/gisbort/resultat
but in the meanwhile...
I already decided which one will be my rabbit.....
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
On falling down
Falling down seems to be one of the main winter sports in this country. When it is so cold, the streets are covered with ice and the floor is very slippery. So, you might often happen to see someone falling down in front of you. Some people bump their face in the ice, others fall down on their bottom, others just slide on the ice for some metres waving their arms in air and then they start walking normally again, others combine the two actions, that is they fall down on the bottom and go on sliding for some metres with their bottom on the ice. However they always do it in a very delicate and artistic way, I mean, they get up immediately with nonchalance, without swearing any Virgin Mary or Jesus or mother fucker (walla kossommak ) and without accusing anyone around who is laughing, because noboby laughs when someone falls down. I guess because it is so normal! So if until now I had thought that Lucia was the world champion of falling down (one day she declared: "falling down is my favourite sport" and then she actually fell down!), I must admit that here people are much better than her. Sorry!
How to prevent it, then?
Well, get some spikes for your shoes. And, even if you have good shoes, stick your feet on the floor and concentrate on every step you make. Always grab to someone or something. And even if you fall down very badly, don't worry, it's normal, just get up, pull yourself together and start walking again.
And consider it as an advice for your life.
How to prevent it, then?
Well, get some spikes for your shoes. And, even if you have good shoes, stick your feet on the floor and concentrate on every step you make. Always grab to someone or something. And even if you fall down very badly, don't worry, it's normal, just get up, pull yourself together and start walking again.
And consider it as an advice for your life.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Photo-therapy
I put all my photos on the walls of my bedroom. Like in my old flat in Cairo, where everybody used to stare at wall to discover new details in the pictures every time. But this time I added new faces, new parties, new group-shots. On the front wall there are all the beautiful pictures, aesthetically speaking, portraying old times in Barcelona, Sicily, Cairo and Salento. On the side wall there are pictures made under extreme use of "forbidden substances" as G. would say, so you would see white faces, red eyes, trays of weed and piles of bottles in the background. On the other side of the wall I set up the corner of vanity, where you could admire Teresa "princess of Siwa" or "back from the eighties". Next to my bed there are "significant" pictures, historically speaking. Then there is the column of the happiness, where I put three pictures of funny faces, so when I watch them I can't help laughing.
I didn't want to exclude some pictures, because I can't reject the past. The pictures of the climax, the peak, before the fall to the bottom. However, I carefully decided to put them in an hidden corner, so I don't need to look at them. But this morning, after dreaming the same situation for the umpteenth time, I realised that they're the first things I see when I open my eyes in the morning.
Morning snapshot from by bed: a cozy bar, King Charles, two coloured sofas, Radiohead stage in Dublin...and the park outside covered with snow!
I didn't want to exclude some pictures, because I can't reject the past. The pictures of the climax, the peak, before the fall to the bottom. However, I carefully decided to put them in an hidden corner, so I don't need to look at them. But this morning, after dreaming the same situation for the umpteenth time, I realised that they're the first things I see when I open my eyes in the morning.
Morning snapshot from by bed: a cozy bar, King Charles, two coloured sofas, Radiohead stage in Dublin...and the park outside covered with snow!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Paris as it has to be
I had been dreaming of travelling to Paris for such a long time. And of course when you think of Paris, you imagine a romantic trip,two hearts and a bottle of wine, a kiss on the top of the Eiffel tower and other diabetes-causing stuff.
For me Paris had a different taste. Walking with A. and his little armadillo was absolutely amazing. We've met in the corridors of our institute a couple of times and we ended up sharing the same room in Paris. And it was absolutely normal and familiar, even if he is Dutch and he studies Japanese religion and I am Italian and I study Arabic literature and we were travelling from Norway to Paris, I mean, globalized fashkh!
And then sharing Norwegian alchool culture abroad was absolutely fun (Let's drink cause it's cheap compared to Norway!) and I won't say any more that local people are not friendly! (They spoke English all the time,even if i was the only one not speaking Norwegian, and I guess I was much luckier than Kubra in Italy or Gianni in Egypt!).
And then, in a rainy afternoon, B. waited for me in a cafè next to the Pantheon. We had never met each other and we never spoked on the phone. Only common friends. But when we finally met he hugged me so strongly and he told me: I'll take you to a special place. The view from Sacre Coeur, the streets of Montmartre, we were already friends without knowing each other from before, and Paris was so romantic, but romantic in sense that I give to romancy. Paris was not diabetes-causing, rather Paris was made of dark chocolate, cause Paris was bitter but improved my mood and left a delicious taste in my mouth.
For me Paris had a different taste. Walking with A. and his little armadillo was absolutely amazing. We've met in the corridors of our institute a couple of times and we ended up sharing the same room in Paris. And it was absolutely normal and familiar, even if he is Dutch and he studies Japanese religion and I am Italian and I study Arabic literature and we were travelling from Norway to Paris, I mean, globalized fashkh!
And then sharing Norwegian alchool culture abroad was absolutely fun (Let's drink cause it's cheap compared to Norway!) and I won't say any more that local people are not friendly! (They spoke English all the time,even if i was the only one not speaking Norwegian, and I guess I was much luckier than Kubra in Italy or Gianni in Egypt!).
And then, in a rainy afternoon, B. waited for me in a cafè next to the Pantheon. We had never met each other and we never spoked on the phone. Only common friends. But when we finally met he hugged me so strongly and he told me: I'll take you to a special place. The view from Sacre Coeur, the streets of Montmartre, we were already friends without knowing each other from before, and Paris was so romantic, but romantic in sense that I give to romancy. Paris was not diabetes-causing, rather Paris was made of dark chocolate, cause Paris was bitter but improved my mood and left a delicious taste in my mouth.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Empty talks from my small taka'ybah in Oslo.
Me: A7a!
W.: Men ana? (Who, me?)
Me: no, not you! The Post-structuralism!
W. is my Egyptian colleague. Everyday we send each other an email around twelve saying: Sigara sawa?(sigarette together?) and we organize our Egyptian coffehouse in the university courtyard.
He brings me coffee and offers me his red Malboros and we spend our time on the bench, chatting, laughing, recounting our days in Cairo and the new life in Norway. Sometimes we have guests, so we spend even more time.
Actually in those days we were dreaming of our next week in Paris: shopping in the duty free and in the city centre, sightseeing and...sleeping during the conference talks. Wa ana maly bel structuralism, yani! (I don't give a damn about structuralism!)
But yesterday he told me: I was told I have to comment about A.'s paper, something about Japanese religion.
Ahahahahah, i told him. While I'll be enjoying the view from the Eiffel Tower.
Today I opened my mail and i found a message sent by our research coordinator in which she says that...
I have to prepare a 10 minute comment on the use of Post-structural literary theory in a presentation about "science fiction in Indian Literature". I have no clue about structuralism, imagine about post-structuralism! And since when Indians have been writing literature, and science fiction!!!! (joking, joking!)
Me: A7a, a2ollohom eh, yani?(What am I going to say, then?)
W.: Ayye kalam, wa ana a2ol sa7 wa asaf! (Anything, and I say that you're right and I clap!)...
From the top of the Eiffel Tower!!!
[Della serie, "chi sfott riman sfuttut." ]
W.: Men ana? (Who, me?)
Me: no, not you! The Post-structuralism!
W. is my Egyptian colleague. Everyday we send each other an email around twelve saying: Sigara sawa?(sigarette together?) and we organize our Egyptian coffehouse in the university courtyard.
He brings me coffee and offers me his red Malboros and we spend our time on the bench, chatting, laughing, recounting our days in Cairo and the new life in Norway. Sometimes we have guests, so we spend even more time.
Actually in those days we were dreaming of our next week in Paris: shopping in the duty free and in the city centre, sightseeing and...sleeping during the conference talks. Wa ana maly bel structuralism, yani! (I don't give a damn about structuralism!)
But yesterday he told me: I was told I have to comment about A.'s paper, something about Japanese religion.
Ahahahahah, i told him. While I'll be enjoying the view from the Eiffel Tower.
Today I opened my mail and i found a message sent by our research coordinator in which she says that...
I have to prepare a 10 minute comment on the use of Post-structural literary theory in a presentation about "science fiction in Indian Literature". I have no clue about structuralism, imagine about post-structuralism! And since when Indians have been writing literature, and science fiction!!!! (joking, joking!)
Me: A7a, a2ollohom eh, yani?(What am I going to say, then?)
W.: Ayye kalam, wa ana a2ol sa7 wa asaf! (Anything, and I say that you're right and I clap!)...
From the top of the Eiffel Tower!!!
[Della serie, "chi sfott riman sfuttut." ]
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
In un giorno come questo
Stanotte ho sognato Enrico. Il suo viso zoommato, come dietro la lente di una macchina fotografica. Mostrava un enorme sorriso. Poi ho sognato un piumone bianco e un abbraccio. Everything as it used to be.
Era un sogno, quindi ovviamente un illusione. Non ho una macchina fotografica e il mio piumone e' a strisce bianche e nere. Ma quando ho aperto gli occhi, gia sorridevo e avevo il coraggio di tirarmi giu dal letto e affrontare un nuovo giorno, nonostante fossero le otto e fuori fosse ancora buio.
Non voglio che Clara - In un giorno come questo
Quante altre volte avrai chiesto in un giorno come questo dopo tante delusioni aspettare fino a maggio e non avere poi i coglioni. e pensa a quante volte abbiamo chiesto per un giorno come questo dove è tardi ma fa niente ti avvicini lentamente poi mi prendi per la mano e insieme non sappiamo dove andare non sappiamo come fare.
Era un sogno, quindi ovviamente un illusione. Non ho una macchina fotografica e il mio piumone e' a strisce bianche e nere. Ma quando ho aperto gli occhi, gia sorridevo e avevo il coraggio di tirarmi giu dal letto e affrontare un nuovo giorno, nonostante fossero le otto e fuori fosse ancora buio.
Non voglio che Clara - In un giorno come questo
Quante altre volte avrai chiesto in un giorno come questo dopo tante delusioni aspettare fino a maggio e non avere poi i coglioni. e pensa a quante volte abbiamo chiesto per un giorno come questo dove è tardi ma fa niente ti avvicini lentamente poi mi prendi per la mano e insieme non sappiamo dove andare non sappiamo come fare.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
On manhood. . دلع دلع آه دلعني
Dear women, there seems to be a very different concept of genders in this country.
If you were imagining Norwegian men to be more or less like Europeans (only wearing more jackets), forget it. If you like the romantic Italian guy carrying flowers, or the macho latino dancing salsa or the passionate Arab rolling hash for you, then you should not look for locals.
In Norway the woman is the strongest in the couple. My Egyptian colleague says that he loves Norwegian women because they decide and control everything, so he likes not having any responsability in the couple. But my Austrian landlord claims that the 90% of foreign men married to Norwegian woman get divorced because after a while they feel completely dis-empowered.
You, woman, should be so strong that if you want to date someone, you have to ask for the phone number and inviting him to go out. And don't get disappointed if you get the door smashed in your face because the man who entered before you does not even think of holding the door for you. Or if the man who is talking with you, stares at the wall. (like the Muslim brothers!).Those innocent acts of courtesy might be intended as flirting, actually.
At a concert an handsome guy starts talking to me offering me a beer. Mashaallah! That is a miracle! My fancy silk skirt looks sexy even here in Norway!!!? And he is even a painter, and teaches art to a disabled guy. And he made graffitis in Napoli Central Station. Half an hour talking together, for him is definitely enough to start hugging me and talking at 2cm from my lips. Sorry, not enough for me. "I have to look for my friends, I'll be right back.", I say. But that sounds as such a bad refusal for him and he must feel so ashamed. When I'm back, he clearly avoides me and runs to the opposite side of the bar.
What is the solution, then? How people get marry and have children?
Drinking a lot, of course.
But also, there is a social network, incredibly popular among Norwegians, where you can choose your favourite partner from his profile picture, interests or his favourite sexual toys (!!) and invite him to go out.(I received smart tips on how choosing your photo and write your profile description).
Does it not remind you of the Gulf countries?(except for the sexual toys!)
With the difference that Arab guys can tell you poetry, and sing, and make you feel as a princess. But they don't have the opportunity to meet a girl personally.
Here: wonderful landscapes, white snow, the river, the desert islands, loads of bars...but very little romanticism.
لو ماكنتش انت تدلعني مين حيدلعني
مين حيدلعنيلو ماكنتش انت تمتعني مين حيمتعني
(Hakim)
If you were imagining Norwegian men to be more or less like Europeans (only wearing more jackets), forget it. If you like the romantic Italian guy carrying flowers, or the macho latino dancing salsa or the passionate Arab rolling hash for you, then you should not look for locals.
In Norway the woman is the strongest in the couple. My Egyptian colleague says that he loves Norwegian women because they decide and control everything, so he likes not having any responsability in the couple. But my Austrian landlord claims that the 90% of foreign men married to Norwegian woman get divorced because after a while they feel completely dis-empowered.
You, woman, should be so strong that if you want to date someone, you have to ask for the phone number and inviting him to go out. And don't get disappointed if you get the door smashed in your face because the man who entered before you does not even think of holding the door for you. Or if the man who is talking with you, stares at the wall. (like the Muslim brothers!).Those innocent acts of courtesy might be intended as flirting, actually.
At a concert an handsome guy starts talking to me offering me a beer. Mashaallah! That is a miracle! My fancy silk skirt looks sexy even here in Norway!!!? And he is even a painter, and teaches art to a disabled guy. And he made graffitis in Napoli Central Station. Half an hour talking together, for him is definitely enough to start hugging me and talking at 2cm from my lips. Sorry, not enough for me. "I have to look for my friends, I'll be right back.", I say. But that sounds as such a bad refusal for him and he must feel so ashamed. When I'm back, he clearly avoides me and runs to the opposite side of the bar.
What is the solution, then? How people get marry and have children?
Drinking a lot, of course.
But also, there is a social network, incredibly popular among Norwegians, where you can choose your favourite partner from his profile picture, interests or his favourite sexual toys (!!) and invite him to go out.(I received smart tips on how choosing your photo and write your profile description).
Does it not remind you of the Gulf countries?(except for the sexual toys!)
With the difference that Arab guys can tell you poetry, and sing, and make you feel as a princess. But they don't have the opportunity to meet a girl personally.
Here: wonderful landscapes, white snow, the river, the desert islands, loads of bars...but very little romanticism.
لو ماكنتش انت تدلعني مين حيدلعني
مين حيدلعنيلو ماكنتش انت تمتعني مين حيمتعني
(Hakim)
Monday, October 18, 2010
For this post I have been paid by Norwegian Ministry of Tourism
This weekend I have had some Italian friends coming over and I had a chance to visit Oslo with them. Of course the pleasant company and the sunny weather have been influential, but I realized that Oslo is such a nice city. All the museums are free in winter (and Munch museum is really worth of notice), there are beautiful parks, and all the harbour area is packed with cozy restaurants, luxury boats and nice buildings. You can sit at the Opera house open cafè, directly on the sea, with the seagulls flying over you, and drinking your coffee in a relaxing silence. You can experience hippy and freak atmophere in Grünerløkka and bump into a Sunday second-hand market. Or you can take a ferry and in 5 minutes you can reach a desert island, where you can walk in the wood and lie on a rocky beach. You can choose one of the many trendy bars in downtown and go to dance. (If you choose to dance salsa, you could end up to be surrounded by Latin American prostitutes and old creepy Norwegians) And finally, you can ride a night bus, surrounded by drunk blonde girls sleeping in the corridors wearing minishirts and short sleeve shirts and get back home. Any more reason to come and visit me?
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Bayny wa..bayny. Between me and...myself.
The problem is not being alone. I am getting to know people, going out to dance, cinema, and other social events. The problem is being with myself. I have too many things in my mind to deal with.
And now I realize that until now I have just avoided to being with myself. Running out of my bedroom, eagerly scrolling down the contact list of my mobile, trying to find new exciting things to do every night, getting easily attached to people were only ways of escaping. You have to face them, not to run away. This is not the solution, my mother used to tell me when I was trying to avoid family gatherings at Christmas time. As now I have to face myself.
The other problem is talking about myself. Sincerely, I mean. Not forced and formal talks. I still can't open my heart to anyone. Also, I don't have the proper linguistic skills to do it. Norwegian, I can only imitate its accent. (I listen to Norwegian radio every day and I can't understand a single word but I can reproduce the accent perfectly). As for English, I have always felt it is far from my feelings. (But it's more or less familiar to anyone, that's why I use it to write this blog)
I am sure that once I get over these two issues, I'll become an adult. I will get used to work routine, to going back home, preparing my dinner and plunge myself in my readings or in my films. If you can't do it peacefully on your own, you are not adult enough to share this routine with any partner.
There is a nice kind of routine, as making your coffee in the morning and lighting up your first cigarette with your partner, someone used to tell me. Exactly like the couple living in front of me, that I enjoy watching every morning. They sit in front of each other, drink their coffee and smoke next to the window, not saying any word. I mean, I don't see their lips moving. She just assumes very sexy postures and keeps staring at him. And he keeps staring at her. They look very boring to me.
But then, from their window, every evening they could watch me talking and making passionate gestures in front of my monitor. I must look very childish, then.
بيني وبينك إيه .. شغلت بالي ليه
شغلوني وفاتوني .. بين همي وظنوني
بيني وبينك إيه .. شغلت بالي ليه
What is there between us?
Why did you occupy my thoughts?
Troubling me and leaving me
between my worries and concerns
What is there between us?
Why did you occupy my thoughts?
(Abdel Halim Hafez)
And now I realize that until now I have just avoided to being with myself. Running out of my bedroom, eagerly scrolling down the contact list of my mobile, trying to find new exciting things to do every night, getting easily attached to people were only ways of escaping. You have to face them, not to run away. This is not the solution, my mother used to tell me when I was trying to avoid family gatherings at Christmas time. As now I have to face myself.
The other problem is talking about myself. Sincerely, I mean. Not forced and formal talks. I still can't open my heart to anyone. Also, I don't have the proper linguistic skills to do it. Norwegian, I can only imitate its accent. (I listen to Norwegian radio every day and I can't understand a single word but I can reproduce the accent perfectly). As for English, I have always felt it is far from my feelings. (But it's more or less familiar to anyone, that's why I use it to write this blog)
I am sure that once I get over these two issues, I'll become an adult. I will get used to work routine, to going back home, preparing my dinner and plunge myself in my readings or in my films. If you can't do it peacefully on your own, you are not adult enough to share this routine with any partner.
There is a nice kind of routine, as making your coffee in the morning and lighting up your first cigarette with your partner, someone used to tell me. Exactly like the couple living in front of me, that I enjoy watching every morning. They sit in front of each other, drink their coffee and smoke next to the window, not saying any word. I mean, I don't see their lips moving. She just assumes very sexy postures and keeps staring at him. And he keeps staring at her. They look very boring to me.
But then, from their window, every evening they could watch me talking and making passionate gestures in front of my monitor. I must look very childish, then.
بيني وبينك إيه .. شغلت بالي ليه
شغلوني وفاتوني .. بين همي وظنوني
بيني وبينك إيه .. شغلت بالي ليه
What is there between us?
Why did you occupy my thoughts?
Troubling me and leaving me
between my worries and concerns
What is there between us?
Why did you occupy my thoughts?
(Abdel Halim Hafez)
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Geographic identity crisis
In the past years I've been living in a country situated in what we "superdeveloped, globalized western people" usually call "the south of the world", or "the third world". Thus, every time I mentioned that I am from Italy, local people used to open their mouth and their eyes wide, then to praise the beauty of my country, to claim how culturally close we are, and finally they used to tell me: "how I wish I could move to Italy and live all my life there!".
Just because my country is situated a little bit more northern, some people used to feel "under" in every aspect. That is something that could have influenced friendhsip, love, food shopping, sharing the sit on the train. That' why, every time, I had to crush their expectations, explaining that in my country there is no real democracy, that my grandfather used to work in the countryside, that my mother doesn't allow me to sleep in my bedroom with a guy, that streets are dirty and crowded. I managed to convince them so well that in the end they believed that I was born in Shubra or Imbaba. (the most local and overcrowded areas in Cairo).
This time I took the opposite direction. Norway, the further North. Every time I say I am from Italy and Napoli, local people start to laugh. The first thing they ask me is if Gomorra is a fantasy movie. When I tell them that it is a documentary, they reply: "I feel so sorry for you". They know about the garbage problem, Berlusconi's escorts, that Cicciolina was a porno actress and is now member of the Parliament, that the typical Italian man stays with his mother until his late thirties. They usually say: "I can't understand how Italy is so messed up and people still go on normally" or "You have a beautiful history but a miserable present" or "It must be a beautiful country but I would never live there.". I feel so embarassed, as if I'm carrying all the shit produced by my government. I have to say something to defend my country, so I tell them about the sun, the food, the beaches, the museums. I manage to convince them so well that in the end they say: "Yes, I might go to Rome for a couple of days in the summer."
One more example: today I took part to a critical mass in Oslo. (mass protest on the bike). In my home town we used to do it to protest against the local governement, the school reform, the unemployment. That was for global warming. Global, and I say global, warming.
Conclusion: The more northern you go, the more you feel low-down.
Just because my country is situated a little bit more northern, some people used to feel "under" in every aspect. That is something that could have influenced friendhsip, love, food shopping, sharing the sit on the train. That' why, every time, I had to crush their expectations, explaining that in my country there is no real democracy, that my grandfather used to work in the countryside, that my mother doesn't allow me to sleep in my bedroom with a guy, that streets are dirty and crowded. I managed to convince them so well that in the end they believed that I was born in Shubra or Imbaba. (the most local and overcrowded areas in Cairo).
This time I took the opposite direction. Norway, the further North. Every time I say I am from Italy and Napoli, local people start to laugh. The first thing they ask me is if Gomorra is a fantasy movie. When I tell them that it is a documentary, they reply: "I feel so sorry for you". They know about the garbage problem, Berlusconi's escorts, that Cicciolina was a porno actress and is now member of the Parliament, that the typical Italian man stays with his mother until his late thirties. They usually say: "I can't understand how Italy is so messed up and people still go on normally" or "You have a beautiful history but a miserable present" or "It must be a beautiful country but I would never live there.". I feel so embarassed, as if I'm carrying all the shit produced by my government. I have to say something to defend my country, so I tell them about the sun, the food, the beaches, the museums. I manage to convince them so well that in the end they say: "Yes, I might go to Rome for a couple of days in the summer."
One more example: today I took part to a critical mass in Oslo. (mass protest on the bike). In my home town we used to do it to protest against the local governement, the school reform, the unemployment. That was for global warming. Global, and I say global, warming.
Conclusion: The more northern you go, the more you feel low-down.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Kteer 7elw! (So nice!)
Calm and cool. That's how I feel.
Nothing manages to panic or stress me.
Belaaks. Many small things relax me and make me smile.
Like running with my bike on the downhill, with the wind in my face and Natacha in my headphones.
Hearing Cairo noises disturbing our conversations on the phone.
Meeting a guy on the tram and being surprised that he is so polite to take me around in downtown to return me the hospitality that he received in Portugal. But then he suddenly leaves me as soon as I look in his eyes. (one more tip about Norwegian social behaviour ).
Sitting on the swing in the courtyard, with my legs up and down, sipping my tea, and watching all the house interiors from outside. Two candels on the kitchen table still lighten up, photos on the fridge and the bedroom door closed.
Hearing my professor knocking on my office door to invite me for an informal coffee in his place with the other "Internet" colleagues.
Receiving an email by an Italian public school offering me to teach English for 15 days, and realizing that I had handed my application "only" 2 years ago.
Fixing nails in wall while listening to Sha3aby music at full volume in my sound-proof apartment.
Meeting Rana, my Lebanese office mate, with her pregnant belly, rose cheeks and never-ending will of talking and laughing. Hearing her deep breath while she sleeps under the blanket on the sofa located behind my chair. Kteer 7elw, the last word she said today before falling asleep.
.
Nothing manages to panic or stress me.
Belaaks. Many small things relax me and make me smile.
Like running with my bike on the downhill, with the wind in my face and Natacha in my headphones.
Hearing Cairo noises disturbing our conversations on the phone.
Meeting a guy on the tram and being surprised that he is so polite to take me around in downtown to return me the hospitality that he received in Portugal. But then he suddenly leaves me as soon as I look in his eyes. (one more tip about Norwegian social behaviour ).
Sitting on the swing in the courtyard, with my legs up and down, sipping my tea, and watching all the house interiors from outside. Two candels on the kitchen table still lighten up, photos on the fridge and the bedroom door closed.
Hearing my professor knocking on my office door to invite me for an informal coffee in his place with the other "Internet" colleagues.
Receiving an email by an Italian public school offering me to teach English for 15 days, and realizing that I had handed my application "only" 2 years ago.
Fixing nails in wall while listening to Sha3aby music at full volume in my sound-proof apartment.
Meeting Rana, my Lebanese office mate, with her pregnant belly, rose cheeks and never-ending will of talking and laughing. Hearing her deep breath while she sleeps under the blanket on the sofa located behind my chair. Kteer 7elw, the last word she said today before falling asleep.
.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
"Khallek fee 7alak" or better "Stay in your status"
 |
| One of the scuptures of Vigeland Park, very suggestive in a rainy day. |
First one: never wear a t-shirt on which is written Khallek fee 7alak (en. keep to yourself, it. stai al tuo posto) in an Arab context. Friday night I was at a concert of Maghrebian funk, and the band was mostly composed of Moroccans and Algerians living in Oslo for long time. The audience was not really wide and I was sitting directly in front of the stage, so my t-shirt definitely attracted the band's attention. After the concert, they all ended up commenting on the sentence and pretending to be offended, but still staring at my boobs with no shame. Because Arabs are "passionate" everywhere, even in the coldest place in the world. .
Second one: avoid making direct personal questions to Norwegian people. They are very shy regarding some subjects. Questions or claims like "Where do you live", "Do you live alone" or "I can marry you even tomorrow if you take with you a BMW and a bottle of wine", inevitably force them to look at the floor. But more than a cultural problem, I would say that not all people get impudent like me after several glasses of Araki. .
Third one: Norwegians never ask your mobile number. Even if they take you home by taxi and hug you quite warmly (that was caused by alcohol of course). So, definitely forget your huge list of contacts of your Egyptian or Italian mobile card. .
I have got a bike. My long-standing dream of going out or to work cycling can now be realized. The only problem is the heavy drizzle rain that cut your cheeks. Oslo is starting to reveal its Nordic aspects. But my Mediterranean soul is ready to face the challenge.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Welcome to the Norwegian wood.
Norway and Oslo welcomed me with a shining but cold sun. Everything around is green, there are lots of apple trees and you can see a villa every 100 metres. There are beautiful gardens and parks with swings (3ala shan el dunya zay el murge7a fee norweeg bardo) and jumping mattresses, and everybody goes cycling, and the air is so clean that you hear your lungs swearing against you for all the cigarettes smoked so far.
But there is an embarassing silence. Streets are empty and the few people that you can see are not talking loudly or better not talking at all. It so silent that you can hear the bycycle wheels and the leaves moved by the wind. That is why I always need music in my headphones. It is like when you are with someone who you are not familiar with and you try to say anything to avoid the embarassment of the silence.
I've settled in my flat. Tommy, the owner's best friend, took me there. He works as a wine-taster and I felt he considers me a bit exotic as he kept asking me about Italian words and customs.
There is a nice courtyard outside the building with children games, tables and wooden houses on the trees. The ones that we have always seen in television and always dreamt when we were children and then all that we got was the cement pavement outside our 10 floor building.
In the flat there is a massive kitchen equipped with all you can imagine. Christoph, the owner, is a researcher in Asian Studies and loves cooking, so the cupboards are filled with every kind of spices, mugs, pots and more. I thought it is quite a stereotype to travel with "Norwegian wood" by Murakami in my bag, but then is the first book I've seen in his kitchen bookshelf.
My room is nice but is completely white. I've soon hanged up my Egyptian decorations (the string of flowers, Sisi and the golden traycloth) but they look a bit out of place in the IKEA-white background. There is a massive window giving on the street and...a sink. Yes, a sink, like the ones you have in the bathroom. But just in the middle of the bedroom. Because I could get thirsty at night, I was said.
But there other typical Norwegian details in the house that i can't still understand. Such as: showers have no shower tray (I thought that was more an Egyptian peculiarity). Also, you have to switch on the kitchen stoves with a touch pad, as a laptop, but then I guess my finger is either too violent or too gentle, because until now I've vehemently called Jesus Christ several times only to make a coffee. But the strangest thing, wallahi, is that the washing machine is in common with rest of the building tenats, downstairs in the cellar and you have to book it some days before. That means that washing my underwear and my clothes would become a particular occasion for me, like birthdays or job-interviews, the ones you have to write on your agenda.
At university I've been given an office with a computer, and a bookshelf. I'll soon receive a new laptop and an anti-depressing lamp which artificially reproduces the day light, to be used in the months in which it will be always dark. I was making fun of this thing yesterday, while I was having dinner in a friend's flat, with some Norwegians, but those Norwegians were not laughing, rather, one of them told me: "Those anti-depressing lamps prevent suicide in winter. I think you will seriously need it in November". Brrr.
I'm spending lots of time alone. Ma3a nafsy. At home. In my office. Or walking. But I still feel ok with it. Mainly because I feel that all my "family of friends" is emotionally with me. And then because I need to realize what happened in the last few months.
And when I awoke, I was alone
This bird has flown
So I lit a fire
Isn't it good Norwegian wood?
(Norwegian wood, The Beatles)
But there is an embarassing silence. Streets are empty and the few people that you can see are not talking loudly or better not talking at all. It so silent that you can hear the bycycle wheels and the leaves moved by the wind. That is why I always need music in my headphones. It is like when you are with someone who you are not familiar with and you try to say anything to avoid the embarassment of the silence.
I've settled in my flat. Tommy, the owner's best friend, took me there. He works as a wine-taster and I felt he considers me a bit exotic as he kept asking me about Italian words and customs.
There is a nice courtyard outside the building with children games, tables and wooden houses on the trees. The ones that we have always seen in television and always dreamt when we were children and then all that we got was the cement pavement outside our 10 floor building.
In the flat there is a massive kitchen equipped with all you can imagine. Christoph, the owner, is a researcher in Asian Studies and loves cooking, so the cupboards are filled with every kind of spices, mugs, pots and more. I thought it is quite a stereotype to travel with "Norwegian wood" by Murakami in my bag, but then is the first book I've seen in his kitchen bookshelf.
My room is nice but is completely white. I've soon hanged up my Egyptian decorations (the string of flowers, Sisi and the golden traycloth) but they look a bit out of place in the IKEA-white background. There is a massive window giving on the street and...a sink. Yes, a sink, like the ones you have in the bathroom. But just in the middle of the bedroom. Because I could get thirsty at night, I was said.
But there other typical Norwegian details in the house that i can't still understand. Such as: showers have no shower tray (I thought that was more an Egyptian peculiarity). Also, you have to switch on the kitchen stoves with a touch pad, as a laptop, but then I guess my finger is either too violent or too gentle, because until now I've vehemently called Jesus Christ several times only to make a coffee. But the strangest thing, wallahi, is that the washing machine is in common with rest of the building tenats, downstairs in the cellar and you have to book it some days before. That means that washing my underwear and my clothes would become a particular occasion for me, like birthdays or job-interviews, the ones you have to write on your agenda.
At university I've been given an office with a computer, and a bookshelf. I'll soon receive a new laptop and an anti-depressing lamp which artificially reproduces the day light, to be used in the months in which it will be always dark. I was making fun of this thing yesterday, while I was having dinner in a friend's flat, with some Norwegians, but those Norwegians were not laughing, rather, one of them told me: "Those anti-depressing lamps prevent suicide in winter. I think you will seriously need it in November". Brrr.
I'm spending lots of time alone. Ma3a nafsy. At home. In my office. Or walking. But I still feel ok with it. Mainly because I feel that all my "family of friends" is emotionally with me. And then because I need to realize what happened in the last few months.
And when I awoke, I was alone
This bird has flown
So I lit a fire
Isn't it good Norwegian wood?
(Norwegian wood, The Beatles)
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